"Your child may not be the firstborn, but I won't play favorites. I promise—whatever Fay's child gets, yours will get too."
"I've told you. You're the one I love most. This life, the next—you'll always be Mrs. Gilbert."
I bit clean through my lip. My smile bled.
Elijah, your love is crushing me. I don't want it anymore.
I don't want you anymore, either.
Before I could say a word, he scooped me up.
He carried me all the way back to the ward, watched the doctor inject the labor suppressants with his own eyes, and only then left, satisfied.
I lay on that hospital bed through the night. Every time I blacked out, the pain tore me back—raw, alive, no mercy in it. I couldn't die. I couldn't make it stop.
The nurse who came to change my medication looked at me with open disgust, deliberately pinching my leg hard enough to bruise.
Their whispered gossip cut deeper than anything.
"That's what a mistress deserves. Writhing in pain and nobody gives a damn. Should just die already."
"Brought it on herself, didn't she? The lawful wife's in there having the baby, and this one drags herself over to fight for scraps. Like spreading your legs is enough to make a man love you."
"Oh, but the real wife's smart. Fully dilated, epidural and everything—and she just won't push. Long as she keeps that baby in, the little homewrecker can scream herself to death and still won't set foot in that delivery room. Love to see it."
I tried to smile. It came out bitter.
Love to see it? But I'm the one who's actually Elijah's wife.
I couldn't understand it. The man who once would have thrown away his own life for me was now doing this to me.
Another contraction tore through me.
Before I could even cry out, the door swung open.
Fay walked in, supported on someone's arm, a newborn cradled against her chest.
I hadn't expected who came with her. My mother, whom I hadn't seen in years.
Fay's eyes were full of triumph as she looked at me.
"I know how hard this must be for you, so I brought your little nephew over specially—come say hello!"
"Seven pounds six ounces. Healthy as anything, both of us. Elijah cried when he held him—actually cried."
I stared at her, barely holding my rage in check.
"He's not my nephew. Take your bastard and get out."
Fay's lips curled into a cold smile, and she slapped me across the face, hard.
"What right do you have to tell me to get out?"
"Last night, while you were screaming your throat raw, Elijah was right next door with me. He could hear every sound you made. He didn't even flinch—just kept stroking my hair and telling me everything was fine."
"So what if you're Mrs. Gilbert? The one who isn't loved is the real mistress. That thing in your belly is the real bastard."
Her hand split the skin at the corner of my eye, and blood ran warm into my tears.
But Fay wasn't done.
She leaned in close, making no effort to hide the malice in her eyes.
"You're really hard to kill, aren't you? A whole night and still kicking. How about I help you along, send you and your little bastard off together?"
She snatched the thermos from the floor and swung it straight at my stomach.
I shoved her away with everything I had and stumbled toward the door.
The moment I made it out of the room, I crashed into a familiar chest.
When I saw Elijah's face, the concern written across it, I seized his sleeve and held on with both hands. My voice shook.
"Elijah, save me. Fay's lost her mind. She's trying to kill our baby!"
His expression shifted. He was about to speak when a shrill, piercing cry erupted from inside the ward.
He shoved me aside, kicked the door open, and rushed in.
A hand twisted into my hair and dragged me back inside.
I couldn't stop shaking.
Fay was on her knees in the middle of the room, cradling her baby. The infant was drenched in blood.
"Elijah, I just wanted her to share in the good luck—so she'd have an easier delivery! That's the only reason I brought the baby to see her!"
